He rose fluidly to his feet, lifting the blanket with him, draping it across one broad shoulder. Somehow, even burdened with nothing more than a fur pelt, he managed to look almost regal—commanding, unshakable.
She had always thought of orcs as brutish, wild, unpredictable. And hewasunpredictable, yes—but also measured. Controlled.
And maddeningly handsome.
Her lips parted before she could stop herself. "And... have you rested enough?"
He only shrugged, enigmatic, shadows playing faintly in the hard lines of his face. "Enough."
He wasn't going to explain. She could tell. Why he had collapsed on the floor like that, why exhaustion had taken him in such a vulnerable state—he clearly didn't want her probing there. And perhaps it was better not to provoke him.
The tone between them had shifted, though. Less hostile. Almost... amicable.
For now.
She drew a steadying breath. "Dare I ask what happens now?"
He turned to face her fully, the blanket slipping from his shoulder, his dark eyes locking onto hers. The levity that had lingered in the air vanished, crushed beneath the weight of his gaze.
All seriousness.
"You will rest some more," he said, voice low but absolute. "Bathe. Eat. Get dressed. Prepare yourself."
A pause, deliberate, heavy.
"Tonight, we return to Istrial."
The words struck her like a blow.
Her mind raced—back to her city, her people, the war she had left behind...
And to the dangerous bargain she had made with him.
Return to Istrial.
But not as queen triumphant.
No—bound to him.
Her anger rose so fast it nearly choked her. She forced her voice into something calm, controlled—though the edge beneath it was unmistakable.
"You're taking me back... to propose this union to my people without first consulting me? An orc like you does not simply marry into the Maidan royal family. There are protocols. Formalities. Negotiations. First and foremost, the Council of Lords has to accept the union."
His eyes narrowed, his expression flat as iron. "An orc like me...?"
She didn't flinch. Didn't let herself be cowed. "You know what I meant," she said coolly.
"This marriage you propose—it's unthinkable. And even then, if the wedding occurs and the deed is done, what then? Do we live together as husband and wife?" Her voice sharpened, fierce despite the tremor she felt deep in her chest. "Or would it all just be a charade to you, a performance?"
He stepped closer, and though his sheer size still made the air around him thrum with danger, the gesture wasn't quite as threatening as before.
Intense. Yes. Mysterious. Undeniably so.
"I'm warming to the notion," he said.
Eliza's lips parted, her laugh sharp, humorless. "Ridiculous. How am I supposed to trust you? How do I know you won't just change your mind and kill me in my sleep one night?"
His gaze drifted, almost lazily, to the dagger lying on his desk. Then back to her, to her hands clenched tightly at her sides. "You didn't kill me when you had the chance."
